


Taken Aback

by inkblot_fiend



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Irresponsible Use of Magic, M/M, Masturbation, The Library at Hurtfew, Unintentional Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4732535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkblot_fiend/pseuds/inkblot_fiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Norrell attempts a new bit of magic. It does not go entirely to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken Aback

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Predatrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predatrix/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Predatrix!

The concoction was described as being _A Preparation to Reinvigorate the Ailing Body,_ which had seemed like a very good idea, since Mr Norrell was prone to falling asleep in his library after many hours of work and thought it would be beneficial indeed to have some means of extending his periods of study. In retrospect, he should have realised that nothing respectable could ever be achieved with ambergis, but as the rest of the ingredients were so innocuous and the book he found it in so overwhelmingly dry, he did not pause overlong to consider the possibilities.

It began as a prickling heat in his throat and stomach, then quickly dropped down inside him until his entire body seemed to be on fire. He gasped and dropped the cup, spilling the remains of the substance on the library floor. His – oh good heavens – his penis stood up to an attention the likes of which he had never previously experienced. His legs shook and gave out under him, and he fell back into his armchair with a groan.

“Childermass!” he cried, and like the good and decent man he was, Childermass appeared in the library mere moments later.

“Sir?” he said, eyeing Norrell with some disbelief.

Norrell reached out to Childermass. “I have made a dreadful mistake!” he said, and it was very nearly a sob.

Childermass looked him up and down, a long look that Norrell fancied he could feel like fingers raking over his skin. He whimpered and his hips pushed upwards apparently of their own accord. Childermass picked up the book and read over the page. He clucked in disapproval then turned to look at Norrell, which again caused him to make a most undignified little noise.

“Can you not … manage?” Childermass said. “It is not likely to be permanent.”

When Norrell did nothing more than shake his head and tremble, Childermass knelt down beside the chair.

“Very well. No need to fret, sir,” said Childermass and then, briskly, “Open your breeches.”

“Childermass!” Norrell gasped, attempting to be scandalised, but his fingers twitched on the arms of his chair and his manhood twitched in his trousers.

“I'm not doing it for you,” Childermass said, “So you can open them or you can sit there going pink until it fades on its own.”

Norrell nodded and slipped loose the buttons on his breeches. Childermass watched him with a keen attention and rested his hand on the arm of the chair.

“Get your hand inside, sir,” said Childermass, his tone very gentle but perhaps, Norrell thought, perhaps a little hungry, too.

Under any ordinary circumstances Gilbert Norrell would most certainly not have done exactly as he was told. He would not have touched himself in front of Childermass, he would hardly have touched himself at all, but the potion was burning inside him and all his usual sense of control had spilled onto the floor with the rest of the concoction. The first touch of his hand on himself was glorious. He gasped at the sensation; how cool his hand felt! How readily his hips bucked upwards!

“That's it,” said Childermass, a shade of pride in his voice, “You've a knack for it after all.”

Norrell nodded and moved his hand more quickly.

“Go on, sir. Go faster. You'll be alright, just think about how it feels.”

It felt marvellous. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, the better to do as Childermass instructed and simply let himself  _feel_ . He quickened his hand.

“Yes.” Childermass' voice was right in his ear now, a deep rasp that skittered down Norrell's spine to join the swirl of pleasure building inside him. “Oh, I could get used to this. You doing exactly as you're told. Pay attention to the crown, the very tip.”

Norrell swiped his thumb where he had been told to and let out a hoarse cry.

“You are very good,” said Childermass, “You hardly need me here.”

At that Norrell's eyes snapped open and he stared up dumbly at Childermass, though he did not falter in his rhythm.

“Maybe I should leave you to it, now that you have the feel of it.”

“No, please!” cried Norrell, “I will never – not on my own -”

Norrell groped blindly, unwilling to look away from the dark pits of Childermass' eyes, and managed to find his hand and grip it tightly.

“I need you,” Norrell whispered, then groaned as felt a pulse against his stroking hand.

Childermass licked his lips and closed his eyes in a long blink. Then he nodded and leaned closer, pressing his lips to Norrell's ear. When he next spoke it was pure vibration, his words felt rather than heard. “Finish for me, sir. Let me see it.”

With a sharp cry Norrell arched out of the chair, pressed his face into Childermass' shoulder and felt himself plunge over the precipice. There were bright lights behind his eyes and he could not help but gasp and writhe as he climaxed over his breeches and his hand.

He was dimly aware of a rustling of fabric and a soft grunt from beside him. He turned his head and saw Childermass' face scrunched into an unfamiliar expression, one of agony, or perhaps... perhaps rapture. Norrell raised a shaky hand and slipped his fingers into Childermass' hair, making him groan and push up against his fingers. Norrell gripped more tightly and Childermass gasped, “Yes!” and then gave a tremendous shout that would have been quite unsettling had he not muffled most of it in his sleeve.

The tension was out of Norrell now, the terrible burn of the potion replaced with a delicate lethargy. He glanced down at himself. “I have made a dreadful mess,” he said, wiping at his breeches without much hope.

“No more than usual, sir,” said Childermass with one of his sly smiles. “Only let me know, next time you attempt some spell without proper consideration. You might have waited a long time for help in this matter, had I not been at hand.”

“Of course,” said Norrell, who very carefully did not watch as Childermass stood and rearranged himself. He very carefully did not say _thank you_. “I think I will retire for the day, Childermass. Take the afternoon, if you'd like it.”

A very complicated expression went across Childermass' face at that, but it was suppressed too quickly for Norrell to make sense of it. Childermass nodded and left the library at a brisk walk.

Norrell tucked himself away and was able to ignore the stains on his person for long enough to return the damnable book to the distant shelf reserved for unorthodox and disreputable works. Mr Norrell could never destroy a book, but he had no such qualms about excommunication.

His work therefore concluded, Norrell hurried from the library to change out of his soiled breeches and to indulge in the easy joy of reading Sutton-Grove in bed. He would not permit his mind to wander to Childermass, or to the exact look of his climax, nor to wondering how often Childermass pleasured himself, to have such confidence. No, he would not think about any of these things. He was entirely too respectable for that.

 

 


End file.
